Cocktail
by Lunatic Silver
Summary: Everything tastes better mixed together. AU, vamp!Jeremy. Rated for sexuality.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Vampire Diaries_ nor its characters. They belong to L.J. Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW Network, and whoever else.

**Note/Warning:** AU, Vamp!Jeremy/Anna smut. I think this is actually the second or third fanfic I wrote for this pairing, ever. Feedback greatly appreciated!

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><p><strong>Cocktail<strong>

Warm aftertaste was saccharine on his tongue. The sweet and sour flavor of her washed away the bitter tang of guilt. He drank with his tongue this time (teeth still sharp but she flowed so freely he didn't need them).

She writhed like a snake on the ground; hips up, grinding, rolling in a circular motion. Rising closer, falling backwards (delicious torment or wicked pleasure, she couldn't decide). She was mewling like a begging kitten, and his tongue kept stroking, stroking. Her fingers kneaded at the ground.

His thumbs traced circles on her hips as he held her in place. He lapped at her, thirsty as a dog in the desert (but he'd had his fill of the metallic liquid that his body had craved only minutes earlier). He drank until she cried out, shaking, giving him all she could to satiate his thirst. The salty taste of sex and sweat washed away the bitter lingering in his mouth.

She was on him an instant later. He could barely track her movements (days ago he wouldn't have even noticed the flash of movement, just the sudden jump from one position to the next). Her eyes were deadly, her teeth sharp, but he was kissing her without a care (not as if his teeth were blunt at the moment).

Heat flooded him, a foreign heat he had never felt before. Melting the iciness in his veins and sinews. Heat not unlike the sensation that would flood him every time he was with Vicki, yet not even close.

Anna's teeth moved from lips to jaw to throat; she nipped at the same exact place she had drained him hours ago, placing new bite marks where the old had faded (and faded fast they had). Her fingers danced along his skin. She was wild above him. Leaves decorated her hair, sweat made her body shimmer in the moonlight - there was a Twilight joke in there somewhere - and the smile that reached her eyes were feral.

Fuck, he felt the same way she looked. He growled (literal, guttural) and pulled her flush against him. His teeth nipped at the long since faded scar where she had cut herself for him to drink, reddening the skin enough to see the disappearing line.

"Jeremy..."

Again she pinned him. Head bowed, he could faintly make out the wicked smile, the impish gleam in her dark, dark eyes. She was moving atop him, sliding, slithering down, down, down. Her tongue tasted his skin; she circled his nipple, traced his abdomen, flicked his navel. Then she was lower, oh, fuck, she was lower, everything hidden by the tangled mess of her hair.

He reached down, brushing it away; he revealed her wicked smile disappearing as she opened her mouth to take the tip of him in, and that growl escaped him again.

She laughed (the vibrations were shockwaves running through him) and began to _suck_. She was the expert at sucking, he'd known that, but he was certain she hadn't sucked that hard, that hungrily when she had drained him of blood. The little wildcat seemed intent on draining him of something else now (and he was eager to oblige).

"Anna, fuck!" he hissed through clenched teeth (still sharp).

The taste of her was still fresh on his lips. He kept licking them, remembering the way she had moved when he'd given her this same treatment. He understood her conflict.

Heaven or hell, he didn't know where he was.

Had it even been like this before?

Fangs bit into erect flesh, and he was even more lost. She drank, tasting his blood now (did he still taste the same, or did he taste like the man lying dead only yards away?), drinking just enough to give him a push. She relented when he came, grunting her name, and drained him of a different bodily fluid.

Jeremy swore he saw a sticky, pink liquid dribbling down her chin. He was hard again when he watched her catch it with her tongue.

Now they were switched. He didn't even remember moving. But she was pinned under him, he was deep inside her, and they were both moving.

Anna raised her head, pressing her lips to him. He could taste himself on her tongue; she mingled his taste with hers, he mingled her taste with his, and the once distinct line between them blurred blissfully until he didn't want to remember where each ended and the other began.

The kitten beneath him mewled again. He growled against her ear, biting, breaking skin (she tasted cool and refreshing like lemonade on a hot summer's eve). She was gasping, gripping, legs tightening around his hips; he went faster, harder, deeper, trying to lose himself in her because she was the only one who could ever find him.

Bittersweet copper mixed with the salt and sugar of their sweat and their sex. Something he'd always thought was an overused vampire cliché was suddenly his newest and most addictive drug.

Her mouth was hungry against his, as if she knew his thoughts, as if she had to assure him he wasn't the only one getting hooked on something new and something powerful.

Neither of them would ever get enough. But with eternity before them, he wondered; how badly would they crash and burn?


End file.
